


Valentine's Day is for Lovers

by DarthFucamus



Category: My Bloody Valentine (2009)
Genre: Convenient Plot Devices, Doggy Style, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, F/M, Gas Mask, Happy Ending, Horror, Lube, Missionary, Or Is It?, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Rubber, Violence, dubcon, horror porn, plucky protagonist, slight gore, the mask stays on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 19:43:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12283131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthFucamus/pseuds/DarthFucamus
Summary: Megan came to the party grudgingly. If nothing else, she hoped to find some company on Valentine's Day night. Instead, she finds something else. Something powerful and frightening. Something that would rock her fucking world.-----Warnings for dubious consent and some violent gore (but not against the protagonist)





	Valentine's Day is for Lovers

**Author's Note:**

> Shameless smut! Irredeemable porn! Another horror smutfic for the bloodthirsty masses! Enjoy!

Megan didn’t want to go to the V-Day party. Keggers weren’t her kind of thing anyway, but when Rebecca Peters contacted her wanting a wingman, she tried to think of it as a chance to get some action. It’d been awhile, and it was always hard being single on Valentine’s day. Still, she would have much rathered stay home and read.

She was halfway through her book on the history of coal mining, and while it was a riveting read, she didn’t blame others for not getting it. After all, it was hard to be the life of the party when you sounded like a Wikipedia article.

She’d been branching out or trying to, but it required a bit of self-training. Whenever she had the opportunity to be social, she would have to find a carrot to dangle, like something to learn.

The plan to have a kegger in the old Hanniger Mine was dubious at best, but she’d always been fascinated by its history in relation to the small town.

She made herself look as hot as she could, but her wardrobe went from house casual (leggings, leg warmers, ratty old cardigans, slippers) to Promote-Me-Please business wear in zero seconds flat, with no stops in between.

So she tried to balance it as well as she could, with a pair of black yoga pants that had a skirt attached (and a small hole on the inside seam of one thigh), and a vintage silk camisole that was meant to be worn under a dress shirt.

When Rebecca came to pick her up, her face betrayed her immediate bafflement over Megan’s choice or attire.

“Did you even try?” she asked, popping her gum. She was on full display in her tight purple dress and impeccable makeup.

“I’m wearing foundation,” Megan said with an apologetic shrug.

That was the end of that, and Megan was left to lock her front door and run after Rebecca before she drove off without her.

It was 11:00 on a Friday, so every college kid and hopeful high schooler was at the site of the mines. Someone had strung up lanterns, and a self-promoting DJ was playing the latest radio tunes for maximum appeal to the lowest common denominator.

Rebecca pulled her over to a group of girls, but she was immediately forgotten. Someone shoved into her as they stumbled by, and cold beer doused her.

“Fuck,” she sighed. Good start.

She gave a final glance toward Rebecca, but her ex-college roommate was already making a bee-line toward a local celebrity and TV Personality. Supposedly he had great yacht parties. Megan wouldn’t be seeing her the rest of the night.

The only bathrooms were some porta-potties off to the side, but they were all occupied, so her only option was to let it air dry and hope for the best. She couldn’t help but be a bit discouraged by the start of this foray into the public eye.

She snatched a beer from a Real Housewives hopeful, and headed away from the outside of the party and into the mines.

The mouth of the mines had no shortage of partiers, and people seeking slightly more discreet locations for their sex and making out. She also distinctly smelled an undercurrent of urine and vomit as though other people couldn’t wait in line for the porta potties either.

She walked right past.

She left the sounds of music and chattering, squawking drunks behind her. In her boho-style shoulder bag, she dug out the LED flashlight attached to her jangling keys and clicked it on. She’d find a quiet spot to recharge her batteries and let the beer dry.

At a fork, she took a left. She had a loose idea of the layout of the mines, and which parts were potentially too unstable, thanks to the graffitied metal map by the entrance. She took a right, then another left where the mineshaft lights weren’t connected.

Here, the sounds of the party were all but faded. Megan found a suitable rock to sit on and sipped her beer as she rummaged around in her bag. She pulled out the book she’d stowed in there, and looking around with guilty pleasure, she read by flashlight.

She didn’t realize how long she’d been in there reading until her beer was gone. It was time to get some more, and maybe make a second attempt at not being a reclusive shut-in.

She stood up, but a sound behind her from deep within the mine tunnel made her freeze. All of the legends she’d heard of angry miner ghosts ricocheted off the insides of her skull with the skittering in the dark. It was ridiculous, the kind of thing she’d dismissed even as a child, but here with only the narrow beam of light from her mini flashlight to illuminate the darkness around her, unfeasible things seemed more possible.

She felt the tang of fear in the back of her nose and backed toward the exit with her beam aimed down into the dark tunnel.

Her heel caught something, and she went down hard. Bright light and footsteps preceded the ghostly figures appearing at the edge of the diffuse circle of light.

“Oh thank god!” a girl slurred, waving her cell phone around with the flashlight function turned on. “I thought we were gonna die in there!”

“Nah baby, I told you I’d find our way out. Let’s get you some more booze,” the man said. And then, calling back over his shoulder, “Don’t let the ghost miner get ya!”

They left her there cackling like drunk hyenas without bothering to help her up.

She climbed to her feet, watching behind them as they made their way around the bend, and dusted herself off.

“Assholes,” she growled.

A hand landed on the back of her neck.

Digits encased in thick rubber squeezed and shocked the blood out of her system. She dropped her bag and her keychain, paralyzed.

A light clicked on, shining past her, so her silhouette was thrown against the rock wall ahead. Then she heard the breathing.

Thick, bubbly inhalations and exhalations, canned. As in a scuba mask, or a gas mask.

She sucked in a breath to scream, but a hand clamped over her mouth, and an arm hooked tight around her waist, squeezing the air from her lungs.

Heels skidding, she was pulled backward in an unbreakable grip. As soon as she realized what was happening, Megan kicked and thrashed with everything she had in her.

It was no use, her captor’s strength was too much, and his hold on her only tightened to the point of pain.

She screamed into his hand with what little breath she had left. Her struggles weakened, pinpoints of light wiggled in her peripheral vision, and she watched the light shrink and disappear.

She must have passed out. She remembered the sound of the muffled breathing, the sensation of having her limp body dragged, maybe the dim vision of a black rubber face peering down at her. But the next thing she was aware of was that she was alone and laying on her side.

She blinked the vision back into her bleary eyes. She was laying on hard stone, and there was a yellow light shining down on her from above.

Her heart was drumming in her ears, and her head throbbed. But there was another sound echoing to her from unseen tunnels.

The sound of screams. Her eyes popped open to see rusted iron grating an inch from her nose. She was in an enclosed storage room with iron grating walls. She was laying in front of a door. There was a padlock on the outside.

Megan pushed herself up into an upright position, leaning on one arm until the floor stopped tilting. The screams continued from somewhere in the space on the other side of the wall of metal grating.

Two pairs of unsteady footsteps bounced off the walls as the source of the screams entered.

Megan could make out two figures. The partygoers that had passed her earlier.

“Hey!” she shouted as the figures skidded into where she could see them. They weren’t paying attention to her, though, they were looking behind them where a light bounced down the corridor.

“Hey! Over here! Let me out!” she screamed, banging on the metal grate. The man spotted her and grabbed the woman’s arm. They ran over to her, eyes wild, and clawed at the metal grate.

“Let us in!” they screamed. A light about forehead-height on a tall man emerged from around the corner behind them, and the woman’s shrieks got ever more desperate.

“I can’t! I don’t have the key!” she answered, panicking because they were. The figure behind them with the light approached swiftly.

Megan was looking at the woman’s eyes when the metal point of a pickaxe pushed through her forehead with a dense crunch and a splatter of blood and brain matter.

Salty spray hit Megan’s tongue, and she fell back on her hands, unable to process what she was seeing. The pickaxe jerked back, taking the woman with it.

A helmet lamp flashed into Megan’s eyes, blinding her before it turned away, and then it was male screams she heard.

Numbly, she realized her face was wet.

She touched it with her hand and looked down to see her fingertips smeared with red and chunks of grey matter.

There was a wet crack, the male screams rose an octave, and then another crunch and they were silenced entirely.

Megan scooted back, unable to make her jelly-filled knees work correctly until her back hit a shelf. Dusty old filter cartridge canisters spilled around her with a clatter.

The sound was amplified in the cave and her every muscle seized up, frozen like a mouse listening for predators.

He was coming.

Heavy footfalls made their ponderous way over to her cage. Every other step squished.

His lamp was off. At the edge of the circle of light, a pair of round panes flashed bright with reflected light.

It was a man in a miner’s suit, gas mask, and black hard hat. Red glistened wetly on the heavy belted jumpsuit. A pickaxe hung loosely at his side, dripping blood.

She thought she could see human eyes through the glass, but then he turned, and there were only the smoky black disks.

He stood there watching her, breathing loudly, and she looked right back.

He turned and left. A few strides into a tunnel, the helmet lamp clicked off, and she was alone.

Megan pushed herself to her feet, but she had to hook her fingers into the grating to keep steady.

She tried pulling on the door, but that only rattled the padlock. She looked for a way out of the cage, but there was a ceiling to it as well with welded seams. She threw her weight against the sides, but they were fixed deep into the rock floor.

More screams echoed through the mine shafts, and Megan hugged her arms closer and listened as they became bloodcurdling and were silenced.

Someone was running down another tunnel. Megan saw the bobbing light of the Miner, but neither he nor his quarry reached the chamber where she was being kept before there was a bang and dull thud.

“Why are you doing this?” she cried out, frightened and frustrated. No answer came except for her voice echoing back. Except for the sound of something being dragged in fits and starts.

Megan sank into a crouch, fingers threaded in the holes of the grating and gaped as the figure of the Miner came back into view, his headlamp bobbing as he pulled something heavy on the ground behind him. A body.

He threw it down next to the others, turned to her briefly, and then left.

Megan screamed, bashed her fists on the metal walls of her cage, and tried everything to escape, but she was trapped.

With nothing else to do, Megan paced, examined everything in the cell, but there was nothing useful in the dusty old equipment. Not even anything heavy enough to throw.

Every once in awhile, he returned with more bodies. One by one, partygoers piled up in the cave and Megan was forced to witness it from hopeless captivity, with no one except the dead and her unmoving captor.

Helpless to stop him, she pushed herself into a corner of metal grating and stone wall and hugged her legs to herself.

The questions rolling through her mind had no answer, so all she could do was go in circles with them. Was he trying to torment her? Was he saving her for last? Or was his plan for her far worse than death?

She was scared to think of it. She didn’t have any weapons, or anything else.

Surely the police had been called. With so many dead, there was bound to be a report. But she wasn’t so sure that rescue would come for her before the killer got to her first. She was at his mercy, though she didn’t have much hope for that.

It was about an hour in before he returned, this time without any bodies. That was somehow more ominous.

Megan’s heart thudded in her chest as she watched him cross the room. His pickaxe was covered in blood and chunks of viscera, and he set it aside. There was the sound of running water and splashing. He was washing his hands in a utility sink.

Megan watched him come toward her cage. In his hand, he had a key. He used this to unlock the padlock on the door.

Megan whimpered, tried to push herself closer against the back wall. When the door opened, and he moved into the doorway, she grabbed whatever she could find and threw it at him. Air filtration cartridges, hoses, old style gas masks from the 80s, hard hats. He simply batted them away or let them bounce off harmlessly.

He was so tall he towered over her, blocking out the light. In his heavy mining jumpsuit and gas mask, he didn’t look human. Megan screamed when he reached forward and took her arm in one thick, rubber-gloved hand.

He was strong, too, though she’d already been forced to witness that, and was able to pull her to her feet with little effort.

“Please don’t kill me,” she said, trembling. Heavy breathing emanated from his mask as its blank black disc eyes looked down at her. A hand gripped her jaw, the thumb stroking her cheek.

A tremor went down her spine from the nonviolent contact. Her eyes shot sideways, caught sight of the pile of dead bodies, at least half a dozen at this point, and the panic began to rise hot in her gut.

The thumb stroking her cheek pushed into her mouth forcefully, touching her tongue with the taste of textured rubber and a hint of dried blood that hadn’t been washed off, and her eyes were back on him again.

Megan whimpered and made a half-hearted attempt to pull away, but he had her.

“Please let me go,” she said thickly around his thumb.

He seemed to think about it, harsh echoed breaths belying the state of mind beneath the stoic exterior.

He released her arm and her face and stepped back and to the side.

Megan couldn’t believe it. But he was allowing a clear path to the exit. Megan took a tentative step forward, eyeing his dark shape.

When he didn’t move, she hurried into the cave chamber and toward the dark exit tunnel. Her sneakers stuck to the blood-tacky floor.

Behind her, a headlamp clicked on like a spotlight, and she skidded to a halt.

Slowly, she turned to face him and was blinded by the light. He was standing there. She backed up a step, and he moved forward, stopped.

He was going to chase her. He wanted to chase her; she realized this with a sick thrill in her gut that she could neither explain nor justify.

She didn’t move, and with a rattly growl, he approached her, loomed, and then pushed her shoulder lightly as if to say ‘get out.’

She shrank away, squinting up at his lamp, but she didn’t move. He shoved her again, harder, and she stumbled back, but it hadn’t been enough to hurt.

Her entire body quaked, but she stood her ground and glared.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed him back, not that she was able to make his solid body move more than half an inch.

He seized her by her throat and bore her backward, the light of the hot lamp on her face. She clamped her hands around his wrist, choking and struggling. Her back hit a stone wall, and she kicked out wherever she could reach.

He tried to subdue her with his other hand, but she thrashed and squirmed out of his grip.

One of the straps on her camisole top snapped, and she landed a foot directly into his groin.

With a pained grunt, he let go of her neck. Megan sank to the floor, gasping for breath.

“I’m not running,” she said hoarsely to the panting man, who was bent forward slightly, one hand on his groin. “You’ll have to get your kicks some other way!”

He slowly rose to his full height. Gloved hands tightened into fists with the squeak of rubber.

She’d never been so stupid in her life. Nor so brave.

It was exciting in a way she’d never known, and the giddy, spiteful feeling sank straight down to her belly where it prickled warmly. She was going to die, but she wasn’t going to let him toy with her first.

Megan brought a trembling hand to the ends of the broken camisole strap to see if it could be tied together, but the strip of fabric slipped down, leaving her shoulder bare. His amplified breath hitched.

He liked it. Like a chain reaction, the excitement quivering in her belly sank into her pussy.

She looked up at him, letting her eyes adjust to the bright lamp, and then she let the other half of the broken strap fall. The silk front of the camisole sagged, baring the upper swell of her breast.

The response was instantaneous. He lunged forward and gripped her by the ankles. He began dragging her.

Startled, she yelped and tried kicking, but he had no intention of letting her go. He pulled her body back toward the caged storage space. Her shirt rode up, and her bare back scraped on the rough-hewn stone floor, still damp in places from blood.

In the time that it took her to tug it back into place, he’d pulled her into the cage. She thought she’d unintentionally goaded him into anger. But he didn’t attack her.

In one move, he wrenched off both her sneakers and threw them out the door. Megan was too shocked to resist. Breathing in guttural growls, his towering figure hunched over her, knees planted on the floor on either side of her legs.

He grabbed her by the waistband of her skirted leggings and yanked her farther underneath him.

She squirmed to get free from him, which only made the fabric peel down her thighs. This was what he wanted because his breaths came faster and he continued peeling them past her knees.

When they were down around her ankles, he yanked them off and threw them out the door, and then there was nothing between her ass and the floor except her underwear.

He crouched over her and felt up her leg with a gloved hand, breathing coarsely. He still had blood on him.

Her gut trembled with a heady mixture of fear and anticipation. He pinched the inside of her thigh, and she jerked and gasped because his rubbery touch was like fire on her bare skin.

She let her legs fall open, too tied up in the unconscionable arousal this was causing to question what was wrong with her or think about the horrors on the other side of the metal grating walls.

She swallowed the dryness out of her throat as his hand slid up the inside to her crotch. The fingers rubbed her through the fabric of her underwear, and she let out a tremulous moan. Maybe he’d at least give her a bit of a thrill before he killed her. Or maybe he wouldn’t kill her at all.

She could feel the wetness of her arousal sticking to the fabric of her panties, making it slip into her slit. The fabric fibers rubbed against delicate nerve endings and stirred up heat.

He kneaded her pussy, grabbed a tit and squeezed it hard. Canned rumbling noises came from inside his gas mask when she reacted vocally and squirmed.

The hand let go of her tit and went to his groin.

Megan hyperventilated. This was happening. She was letting it happen.

A brief spike of panic was overcome by his fat rubber-clad finger jabbing her clit through her underwear. Then his whole hand gripped her groin and squeezed.

He unbuttoned his fly, rummaged around inside. She stared as he pulled out a long, swollen cock, red and veiny on the shaft. It bounced out of his miner suit heavily.

Megan’s eyes popped. This was happening.

“Fuck,” she hissed, her back arching when he squeezed her groin again.

He gripped his cock at the base and… he stood up. She watched, a trembling mess, everywhere he’d touched her tingling with electricity, as he disappeared. The door was open. She could try to escape.

Instead, she waited.

When he returned, he had what looked like an old, dusty container of Vaseline in one hand. He was slicking a glob onto his dick with the other. He stood over her, breaths sounding like those of a lifetime smoker through his apparatus.

He set the container aside and knelt. Still slicking the petroleum jelly over his cock, he tugged impatiently on her underwear.

Megan scrambled to help him, eyeing his massive lubricated cock. Her underwear ripped and soon joined the rest of her clothes.

The glove massaged vaseline into and around her bare pussy. It didn’t seem to matter to him that she was already damp.

His digits slicked over her tender fleshy lips and inner folds. The texture of the rubber glove’s grip scraped over her clit like a rough tongue, and she whimpered and tried to clamp her thighs together. Unphased by her minor resistance, he poked a finger tip into her, then returned to smearing the thick, greasy stuff all over the outside, her head falling back against the floor.

He scooped more out of the container and spread down past her cunt and into her crack. But access wasn't easy from this position.

Roughly, he grabbed her thighs and twisted her body, flipping it around. Megan resisted, but he was too strong, and soon she was on her belly with her face toward the open door. She couldn’t see what he was doing, and it felt like her heart was going to burst out of her chest, but she didn’t fight him. Secretly, she didn’t want to.

His hands grabbed her hips and yanked up, forcing her ass into the air. He prodded and pushed her body into position. He wasn’t restraining her, but it didn’t matter.

Megan buried her face in her arm, aroused, humiliated, and achingly exposed.

His hand continued, smearing the jelly around her groin and ass. Thick finger tips prodded her cunt and asshole, came uncomfortably close to penetrating the back orifice, and she clenched and whimpered. Her pussy lips throbbed, and the moving air felt cold on her blood-filled flesh. She was ashamed of how her body was reacting to his crude touch, but she preferred to give into it rather than fight it.

The headlamp clicked on. The heat of it hit the uncovered skin of her ass and crotch. She felt him move up behind her, mining jumpsuit pressed against her thighs. The rigid, bare flesh of his cock bobbed against her slit.

It took only the subtlest adjustment to position it at her cunt, and then shove it in.

He was big. Megan grunted when her skin stretched tautly, but he wasn’t concerned with her comfort. He worked it in up to the hilt in a couple of hard thrusts. In her arousal-swollen cunt, it sent a hot flash of pain-tainted pleasure straight to her bowed spine.

The light from his lamp stuttered and jerked with his motions, throwing twisted shadows across the bloody floor ahead of them.

The miner didn’t seem to care about her enjoyment. He held her ass in place and began ramming his hips, pounding his body against and into hers at a brutal pace.

Megan clenched her eyes shut and bit her forearm to stop the noises that kept wanting to escape, lest she give away the fact that it felt really good.

There were dead bodies only a few yards away and here she was getting dicked by the one responsible.

The exit was right in front of her. Hell, his balls had already shown themselves to be a weak spot. One well-placed kick of her bare heel to the fleshy sack and she’d have her chance.

But when one of the hands pried itself out of her soft hip, and his body pressed against her back blocking out the light so he could reach beneath her, Megan forgot about all of that.

The vaseline made everything slide more easily, so it was only a matter of time when he found her clit. He wasn’t gentle with it, though. He poked and prodded, and when her hips bucked to get away from his harsh touch, he slammed his cock into her so hard she fell forward.

She felt the resounding ache from that one inside of her for a few seconds after. He fucked into her a couple more times, grinding her against the stone floor, before grabbing her hips. He tipped back, bringing her along without pulling his cock out.

He held her throat, and the other arm gripped her against his chest, locking her in place on top of him.

With her sitting on his lap, he hammered into her from beneath. Now she couldn’t bite back the grunts. He was so deep in this position she felt his cockhead mashing against her cervix, a deep dull pain that she was forced to endure for how he restrained her.

She braced her heels on the floor, her hands scrabbling at the glove around her throat, but when it tightened the warning was plain. The hand over her chest went lower, reaching down her belly to her pussy. Fingers brushed over her slit again, found her clit, and pinched the tiny organ without mercy.

Megan squealed and wiggled her entire body, anything to get away from the eclipsing spikes of discomfort that shot through her body every time he mashed her tender button.

It was clear that he liked feeling her writhe on his relentless, driving cock. Before long, Megan went with it, moving rhythmically, rocking her hips, bouncing on his lap. Only then did he cease the cruel assault on her clitoris. Like a reward, he pushed her clitoral hood down and rubbed the delicate organ through the layer of protective skin.

“Fuck,” she uttered in a choked breath at the immediate change in sensation from too much to just-fucking-right. The hand on her neck squeezed shy of choking, and her head fell back against the hard shape of his gas mask’s filter.

The warmth grew, interrupted by body-shaking jolts as he fucked her deep. He was breathing hard, rattly gasps in her ears. She cried out when he hit the inside of her at just the right angle, and the tingling warmth doubled. She could feel it coming to a peak.

He pushed her off his lap, popping his cock out of her cunt.

He turned off his lamp. She barely had a chance to make a noise of dismay when his body pushed over hers, forcing her back to the floor. He pinched her inner thigh until she let her legs fall open, and then he was shoving himself back into her sore opening, looking down at her.

Bracing on the floor on either side of her, crushing her with his weight, he pounded her hard. The material of the suit slid over the vaseline smeared around her lower body, kept friction from catching on her skin as he smashed his hips against her inner thighs and hammered his cock deep inside.

His grunts became more forced, his weight pressed down on her and squeezed the breath from her lungs. She still felt the tension from her unfulfilled orgasm, and while his dick ratcheted up the mounting pressure in her spine, it wasn’t enough.

A rubber-gloved hand moved, clenched around her breast with bruising force.

He gave a couple of pumps, before vocally groaning and lodging the cockhead as far inside of her as was physically possible. The force of his ejaculation jetted against her inner wall, and Megan gasped at the sensation of the hot flood filling her.

His cock pulsed, and he panted atop her, his body weight sinking onto her more as the tension bled from his body.

He pulled himself out before he was done coming, and let the rest of the jizz spurt over her lower belly. He squeezed the last dregs, tapped it against her skin, before pushing his cock back into his suit.

Megan lay there panting, wet, and dazed as he climbed back to his feet.

He stared down at her as he closed his fly. She could see his chest moving under his suit as he caught his breath.

He glanced up, and then back down to her like he was trying to decide something. And then, as if coming to a decision, he stepped over her.

She flipped herself around, but not fast enough. The metal door clanged shut, and the padlock clicked into place.

She crawled clumsily to her knees, cum oozing down her thighs, and banged against the metal, screaming obscenities.

He was unperturbed. She watched his lamp come on. He walked to where his pickaxe was leaning against a support pillar, and Megan’s voice choked off, expecting him to use it on her next.

He glanced at her once, but then stalked off down the tunnel.

Megan sank down to the floor, flustered and angry and scared. Was he going to leave her there? She glanced over at the pile of dead bodies and panic began to rise with nothing to stop it. She was going to die in her cage, and no one would ever find her.

Megan felt the despair rise up. She needed to keep calm.

She closed her eyes and thought about the miner and his brutal attentions. Her hand snaked down her belly, slipped through the spilled jizz and vaseline and found her still-throbbing clit.

She focused on nothing else but the way she could feel her pulse between her legs, and gently kneaded the button with her fingers. Her legs fell open wider, and she slid further down on the floor.

Her breaths came faster, her hips worked against her hand, and soon she was stifling moans. The tightness he’d left in her began to spread.

She felt herself rise to the cusp, and with her finger moving at a near vibratory pace, Megan smashed headfirst into the earth-shattering orgasm she’d been denied.

Her voice echoed in the underground chamber, and up the tunnels.

Panting, Megan lay back limply on the floor and stared into the light over her head. She felt physically better, but she was still trapped, and the post-euphoric despair was starting to sink in.

“ Hello?!” a male voice echoed through the tunnel. Someone must have heard her. Finally! Megan’s heart leaped into her throat, and she scrambled to her knees and listened. The call came again.

“In here!” she cried out, nearly sobbing in relief, rattling the door of her cage.

A flashlight beam bounced around the corner of the tunnel.

“Oh my god is someone down there?!”

It was a young man she’d seen in town before, Tom Hanniger, the classically handsome and rich son of the man who used to own the mine.

“Call for help! He killed people!”

“There’s no reception down here. Wait, who?” Tom asked, running over to her. He noticed the dead bodies, and his hand flew to his mouth. “Oh my god, they’re… they’re all dead.”

Megan sobbed, pulling on the door.

“Please let me out before he comes back!”

Tom seemed to pull himself together enough to search for something to get the lock open. Megan watched the tunnel ahead fearfully for the bobbing headlamp, but it didn’t come. Tom came back with some heavy duty bolt cutters.

“Please hurry,” she pleaded. He grunted as he wedged the cutters around the padlock and with a snap, the metal broke and fell to the floor. He wrenched the door open, and she threw herself into his arms.

She only just remembered that she was naked, but Tom just pulled his long coat off and draped them over her shoulders without comment, holding her tight.

“Let’s get you out of here. We need to call the cops.”

As Tom helped her, gathering her discarded clothes along the way, he pointedly didn’t say anything about the state of her, nor ask why she was still alive when everyone else was dead.

Later, after she’d been allowed to shower and was interviewed at the station (and had to repeat multiple times that the sex was mostly consensual), Megan had more time to think. She didn’t know why, but Tom’s lack of curiosity was strange to her.

He had saved her life, though, so she didn’t want to jump to conclusions.

She wouldn’t be attending another kegger for a long time, but Megan couldn’t stop thinking about the miner with something disturbingly close to longing.

As the small community came to grips with the rash of murders in the weeks that followed, Tom made sure to check up on Megan. He texted her every day and soon moved up to phone calls, and coffee. He was good-looking, thoroughly invested in her well-being, and sweet. It was almost inevitable when they started dating.

In the back of her mind, though, she never could shake the feeling that there was something more to him. Something that was both troubling and familiar…

 

THE END

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to FancyLadySnackCakes for her encouragement!
> 
> If you liked it, let me know! I accept tips in the form of comments and kudos!  
> ps: i know he has a breathing tube, but I didn't really care about accuracy with this one hahaha


End file.
